


After Loneliness

by Glenjamin_Batthew



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Asexual Relationship, Cooking, Daisy is mentioned briefly but not in it, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Good Cows (The Magnus Archives), I Love You, I like filling in the gaps between episodes so this is my first attempt at that, Jon has nightmares, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Martin Blackwood, Pre-Relationship, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), They love each other, lingering lonely, spoilers up to episode 159, very soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glenjamin_Batthew/pseuds/Glenjamin_Batthew
Summary: Martin's POV starting directly after ep. 159 (The Last)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 78





	1. Escaping the Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> “Martin. Martin, look at me. Look at me and tell me what you see.”  
> “I see… I see you, Jon. I see you.”  
> “Martin.”  
> “I… I was on my own. I was all on my own.”  
> “Not anymore. Come on. Let’s go home.”  
> “How?”  
> “Don’t worry. I know the way.”  
> [CLICK]

Martin could see through the fog now. He could see Jon walking slightly ahead of him at an anxious pace, but close enough to keep their hands firmly interlocked. There weren’t a lot of colors here, only swirling grays and blues, but he imagined they’d be brighter if there were. He could see the determination on Jon’s face as they wandered through the Lonely, but he still felt rather removed from it all, as if watching through a glass. He could still feel, though, and he was relieved to be mostly free of the despairing, cloudy thoughts. He willingly followed Jon until the fog suddenly faded, and they found themselves back in the Panopticon. Elias was nowhere in sight, though the body of Jonah still sat there undisturbed. Martin was of half a mind to kill him now, but he was much too tired to act on the impulse. 

Martin took a deep breath of stale air as his feet hit the stone, and it was somehow better than the damp air of the Lonely. Well, maybe not better. It was harsher, and just as cold. He had been under that cloud for so long, but with Peter gone it seemed like things had come into sharper focus. The glass between him and everything else wasn’t quite gone, it was just… clearer. Easier to see through, as if he had cleaned his glasses. He finally glanced up from his shoes on the dark stone and noticed that Jon had been talking. He blinked. Maybe everything wasn’t exactly in focus, then. Jon was looking at him with worry, and he reached up with the hand that wasn’t already occupied to rest it on Martin’s shoulder. 

“Martin? Are you alright?” His voice was soft with concern. It was difficult to look Jon in the eyes. His gaze was intense, as it always had been, and though he relished being close enough to see the flecks of gold in his hazel, it was too much for him at the moment, and Martin’s eyes just darted around his scarred face haphazardly. 

“I’m – I just want to get out of here.” Jon nodded at his words with silent understanding, and gave him a small but encouraging smile, which Martin returned. Jon then wasted no time in turning around and pulling them out of the panopticon, up the stairs, and through the winding corridors. They walked quietly through the tunnels for a time, trying to move as swiftly as possible without getting lost. Martin felt rather useless in their escape as he was dragged along but entertained himself by watching Jon and admiring their still-clasped hands. Jon’s grip was firm, and though his hands were dry and rather bony, it was the most comforting thing Martin had felt in months. It was a connection. Eventually Jon spoke, and Martin paid attention this time. 

“I don’t know if you’re aware of the state of things above, but it won’t exactly be pleasant up there, so we’ll need to be careful.” Jon muttered, keeping his voice quiet in the tunnels out of habit. Realization struck Martin as he said this.

“Yes! I mean, Peter freed the, the Not-Sasha thing as we were on our way down there… he had a Leitner, and a map…” Jon nodded, obviously aware of this, and continued along, pausing momentarily before taking a sharp turn around a corner. 

“Yes, we saw it. Additionally, our friends Trevor and Julia decided today would be a good day to pop in and wreck some havoc.” 

“The vampire hunter?” He asked incredulously. “Didn’t you last see them in America? What were they doing here?” 

“They’re trying to kill me.” Jon said matter-of-factly. Martin noted that it didn’t seem to even phase the man anymore when his life was nearly constantly in danger as it was. He was resigned to it, and it hurt Martin to think about that.  
“How did you get away?” Martin inquired softly.

“Basira and Daisy are taking care of it so I could come get you.” Jon stated. “I hope they’re alright.” He muttered, almost to himself, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, eyebrows furrowed and pace slowed, before snapping them back open. 

“They’re gone. Basira’s waiting for us.” He stated, and continued through the tunnels with renewed energy, as if suddenly realizing where to go. Martin was awed and rather wary of Jon’s avatar abilities, as he had rarely seen them in person, but he was relieved to be leaving, even if it required their use. 

They arrived under the trapdoor in no time after that, and Jon looked up at it warily before turning to Martin. Initially confused at Jon’s hesitation, as he was sure they’d want to get out of the tunnels as soon as possible, he was about to speak before Jon stepped forward and drew him into a tight hug. Surprised, Martin tensed, but he was able to throw his arms around Jon’s shoulders for one solid moment of warmth before the other man stepped back again, much too soon for Martin’s liking. A sudden act of affection, over as soon as it started. Jon looked momentarily shy, a stark contrast to the stoic determination he had been embodying previously. 

“Sorry. I’m just, very glad you’re alright.” He said kindly, still within Martin’s space, their hands still loosely intertwined. Martin was nearly overwhelmed by all of it. He was also very aware of where they were at the moment, and was very anxious to get upstairs and out of the tunnels. But he was also standing here with Jon, who was being uncharacteristically soft. He ought to try to be present, stay in the moment rather than running away. It wasn’t hard to smile at him, so he did that. 

“Thank you.” Was all he managed to say, and he meant it for many reasons. For bringing him out of the Lonely, for attempting to communicate with him while he pushed everyone away, for missing him. Jon nodded, seemingly satisfied, and gently dropped Martin’s hand to open the trapdoor. Martin could still feel the ghost of his touch and lingered there a moment longer before following him out. 

Basira was indeed waiting for them, sitting on the floor by the trapdoor, and she looked surprisingly unharmed despite what had been going on while they were away. She looked grim, though, and Martin noted that there seemed to be tearstains on her dark cheeks. He wanted to feel concern for her, and nearly did, but there was still that bit of glass separating him from the entirety of the emotion.  
It seemed too quiet, the archives nearly silent, and Martin wasn’t sure if it was him or if it were really that unnaturally still in the large room. He couldn’t decide which was more concerning at the moment, either. Jon was back to business, though, his face serious as it usually was, and rather somber as well. 

“Daisy.” He said gently, less of a question and more of a statement. Basira nodded slowly, and for a moment Martin was sure she had died. 

“She let the hunt take her so she could chase them all off. She told me to run, so I did. When it got quiet, I came back out to wait for you here.” She said, sounding rather lifeless. Martin felt a bit of empathy for her, though he and Daisy had not interacted much, and was fascinated by the emotion. It was small, but it was real. Probably a good sign.

“I see.” Jon said cautiously. “With her increased strength, there’s every possibility that she’s alrig--”

“Don’t.” Basira cut him off. Jon didn’t push it, and she took a deep breath. “You got Martin, then. Good to see you.” She said, looking at Martin with a content nod. He smiled weakly at her. 

“Thanks. You, too.” He managed to say. 

“What about Peter?” She asked, and immediately Jon responded.

“He’s dead.” Basira nodded, evidently satisfied. Martin blinked. He still wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to feel about this, but he knew he was glad to be rid of him. He certainly didn’t miss the man. 

“Good.” After a moment of strange silence – not quite uncomfortable, but certainly not companionable – Basira stood up. 

“Alright. We can’t stay here. Or at least you can’t.” She said, turning towards Jon. He sputtered for a moment in confusion. 

“What do you mean? I – Elias –”

“Is missing. But he’s bound to turn up again soon. As are the hunters and that… not-Sasha thing, unless Daisy dealt with them all, in which case she’ll soon come back for you too.” She said this plainly, and her words left no room for argument. 

“No, that – that makes sense. But we found things down there – and his body, Jonah’s body, is still in the Panopticon…” Martin tuned out as Jon and Basira began to furiously recap events to each other, and turned slightly to look out at the archives behind him. They were rather messy, and signs of a battle were evident. Shelves and cabinets were knocked over, and many papers lay scattered across the floor. He hadn’t seen the archives in such a state since… well, probably since the Prentiss incident. He shuddered involuntarily at the memory, and immediately tried to push it back to the corner of his mind. The papers scattered on the floor brought back more memories, specifically of the time he and Tim had dropped a box of files and furiously attempted to pick them all back up before Jon came out of his office and noticed. They managed to put them all back into some kind of order with Jon none the wiser, though he did complain about disorganized files even more heartily after looking through the box, much to Martin’s worry and Tim’s amusement. This place was not friendly, or good, but it was familiar. Martin continued to stare into the dark room, taking in the mess. If he focused, he thought he could hear his name being called, as if from far away. 

“Martin…” He blinked, trying to identify the source of the sound. He jumped slightly when he felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Jon beside him. 

“Martin?” He asked again tentatively, his face concerned. Basira was watching them with a guarded expression, her arms crossed. 

“Sorry. I guess I zoned out.” He said, wishing they’d both stop staring at him. He tried to focus on Jon, who was speaking again. 

“Basira suggested we go lay low somewhere. Get away from all this until we know our next move.” Martin nodded, not really caring what they did, as long as they were doing something. He hated feeling useless, and he was rather sick of the institute. 

“That sounds good.” He said, and Jon didn’t look quite satisfied with his response, but he didn’t object. He dropped his hand from Martin’s arm as he turned back toward Basira.  
“Are you sure you want to stay here?” 

“It’s not about want. I need to be here. I do want to see what happens when Elias – or, Jonah, decides to show his face again, though. And I need to… to deal with Daisy when she comes back. If she comes back.” She ended weakly, leaning against the wall of Jon’s office behind her. 

“I understand. Thank you, Basira.” 

“I’m not doing this for you.” She said, her voice tired and harsh. Martin would’ve liked to think the bitterness was unintentional, but he didn’t want to fool himself. Jon sighed, likely thinking the same.

“I – I know.”

“I’ll get the address for one of Daisy’s old safehouses. No one will think to bother you there.”

“Oh – ” Jon started, but Basira continued over him.

“You should start packing up. The sooner you leave, the better.” She said as she walked around them into the office. Jon’s expression was unreadable, merely a slight furrow in his brow that could be frustration, concern, or any number of things. Now it was Martin’s turn to reach out to Jon, who above all else looked utterly exhausted, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. 

“She was rude.” Martin noted, wishing he had the energy to say so directly to Basira. “She shouldn’t talk to you like that.” 

“No, she’s right. There’s not much I can do now to help, and if I stay, I’ll likely just draw more danger to us all.” Jon looked positively miserable, and Martin was struck by how thin he looked. His hair was falling from the messy ponytail he had thrown it into, and loose strands were resting haphazardly across his shoulders. He looked up at Martin with that same intensity as always.

“You don’t have to come with me, you know.” He finally said, sounding utterly exhausted, as if the words took the rest of his energy. “You’re likely not being chased.” Martin’s stomach dropped. They had just found each other again, and already Jon was suggesting they separate? Martin couldn’t think of a way to refute the appalling idea fast enough. 

“No, I don’t like that. If the point of this is to keep you safe, I think it make sense to have someone with you.” He said, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. Jon let out a breath and nodded, and Martin could feel a layer of tension release from his form.

“Alright.” He said, but Martin could hear the ‘but’ forming.

“And don’t even try to warn me about putting myself in danger. That’s a given, with our line of work, and I don’t care.” He stated firmly. “Besides, you helped me.” He continued, nudging Jon’s arm with his own. Jon smiled and leaned tentatively into Martin’s side, momentarily resting his head against the taller man’s shoulder. 

“At least I’m good for something.” He murmured. Martin couldn’t believe how warm Jon was being towards him, though he supposed that both of them had been rather lonely recently, especially if Basira’s behavior was normal. Jon must not have had a lot of support, maybe not any at all since he awoke from the coma. The thought saddened him, but Martin was determined to be there for him now. They stood like that for a little while before Basira called to them, and they walked toward the office together to discover where exactly they would be heading.


	2. Safehouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the cheesiest and fluffiest cottage safehouse scenario I could realistically imagine while staying true to their characters, so enjoy!

It took a little less than a week for the nightmares and fogginess to reside. By the time Martin realized he actually felt rather safe in the safehouse, Jon was holding him at night due to the habit rather than the necessity of comfort, and neither of them seemed inclined to change the situation. Martin was, quite frankly, thrilled. He didn’t know exactly how to bring it up, but he had obviously noticed the increase in both attention, which could be explained away since they were literally stuck in a small house together with only the other to talk to, and physical displays of affection from Jon, which were not so easily dismissed. At first, he had been convinced that Jon was just trying to keep him from fading back into the lonely, which was greatly appreciated, but it was becoming clearer every day that Jon simply enjoyed being around him and leaning on him. He smiled more easily than Martin had ever seen, and he would often come to sit next to him or check in on whatever he was doing. Martin could see him starting to relax, mostly through how he slept. Initially, and especially on the first night, he tended to toss and turn, and though he eventually ended up in one place, draped over Martin, he could tell that he did not sleep peacefully. But at this point, once he had sleepily thrown an arm over Martin or nestled his head on his shoulder, he tended to drift away rather quickly. It made Martin positively melt to see him looking so comfortable next to him.

Then, of course, there were the mornings. Twice now, Martin was sure that Jon had been looking at his face a little too long lying next to him when he awoke, and though it could have been his imagination, he thought he had caught him staring at his mouth. Jon always snapped his gaze back up to his eyes when he realized Martin was awake, and they would smile and greet each other familiarly, discussing what they should have for breakfast, whether they needed to go into town and who would do it. It was all very well and good, but it somehow made it harder for Martin to broach the subject of… _them_. What it _meant_. If Jon didn’t actually feel the same way about him, then it could make sharing the one bed in the house much more awkward for the both of them and would likely mean the end of the affectionate gestures, which Martin was not quite ready to sacrifice.

Besides, they still had other things to worry about. Jon had grabbed a few statements from the institute during their hasty exit, though Basira watched him with judging eyes as he did so, but it wouldn’t last him very long. He was determined not to get any more direct statements from innocent people, which Martin was glad about, but he also saw the toll it took on him to try to control his unusual appetite. He was still rather thin and seemed perpetually tired, though that could be due to lack of proper sleep as well. Jon had told Martin all about his nightmares – or rather all the other peoples’ nightmares which he bore witness to. He knew of the guilt that haunted Jon after he awoke every morning. He did his best to try and comfort him, but there wasn’t much to be done about it, and Jon preferred not to dwell; he was more a fan of distractions. Once a week, Martin was planning on calling Basira to check in with things on her end. He would likely ask her to send something along for Jon when he next did so, to help keep him going.

There was also the perpetual feeling of _waiting_ that sucked a lot of the energy out of both of them. Not knowing what they were doing next, if or when something would find them, was making them both a little jumpy. It wasn’t constant, but many days without being able to do anything substantial had a strange effect on people. They tried to find new things to do to pass the time, but often they just ended up reading or attempting to watch something on one of the few local channels that came in on the tiny television in the main room. The nearest town had a grocery store, a small convenience store, and not much else. There was virtually no outside sources of entertainment apart from the large stretches of farmland with _ridiculously_ adorable fluffy cows. Martin was intent on learning each of their names, which Jon did not mask that he found incredibly endearing.

Currently, Martin sat on the couch in the small open area that doubled as a kitchen and living room. Apart from this main room, there was the bedroom, bathroom, and, as Martin had recently discovered, an attic. The bedroom was smaller than the main room but contained a comfortably sized bed, a dresser, and a desk that Jon had taken over as a sort of office stand-in. Jon did still value his private time, or rather quiet time, as he nearly refused to leave Martin truly alone since they arrived, and would often peruse some of the books that he had brought, or the very few that were already here when they arrived, in the bedroom. It was also where he kept the statements and occasionally did recordings. He always made sure to be done by the time Martin would want to come to bed, as he knew he hated hearing him read statements.

It was warmest in the main room, which held a small stone fireplace, so Martin usually ended up there, curled up and relishing the comfort of the soft crackles and pops of the firewood. Tonight, as per usual, Jon was seated at the other end of the couch from Martin, turned sideways so that his long legs were draped over Martin’s lap as he sat facing the fire with a cup of tea. 

Martin had been reading one of the only books that he had brought with him, a book of poetry that he had once thought of as inspiration for his own. He hadn’t written any in a long time, but he was starting to try his hand at it again now that he had some free time and more of a feeling of safety than he had had in a while. The only catch was attempting to hide it from Jon, who was always around and was usually interested in whatever Martin was doing. He was fairly sure that if Jon were to read any of it, he would know how smitten Martin still was with him if he wasn’t already perfectly aware. Martin was still wondering if it would be romantic or creepy for him to leave a poem about his feelings for Jon somewhere around the cabin for him to find, but he was still hesitant enough to not have attempted it yet.

Jon was reading a book that had been left in the cabin, a book of old short stories. It was something obscure that neither of them had heard of before, but Jon seemed to enjoy them and would give Martin a detailed synopsis of each one after he finished reading it; long-winded summaries that Martin supposed might be longer than the stories themselves. Martin couldn’t tell why Jon was so enamored with them, as he had already finished the whole anthology once and had promptly started it over. Martin mused that it could just be the lack of available reading materials, but he had a suspicion that Jon liked it because he assumed that Daisy had read it and liked it enough to keep it in the cabin.

He knew that Jon and Daisy had gotten close since he rescued her from the Buried and that Jon was anxious about her fate. Technically, Martin thought to himself, he himself had saved both of them by placing the tapes around the coffin, but he didn’t feel right trying to take credit for it. He had wanted to stay away at the time just as much as he had wanted to save them. And he hadn’t bonded with either of them over the experience. He hadn’t been inside there with them, thank god. Anyway, he and Jon hadn’t explicitly discussed that event, or anything of substance for very long at a time, as one or both of them were likely to get upset and the discussion would be dropped in favor of a tea break. They were still fragile, or more likely, worried that the other was.

Jon did continuously make an effort to check in on Martin’s overall state of being, though. One time after realizing he had been reading alone in the bedroom for over an hour, he came running out in a near panic just to attempt to casually ask Martin how he was doing. Martin, though he knew it came from a good place, was slightly irritated by the notion that Jon thought him completely incapable of spending any time alone, but simultaneously loved the care that it showed Jon had for him. He did let him know that he would be alright on his own in the tiny house without him checking in every couple of minutes, and Jon had been making an obvious effort to let him be in the past couple of days. Martin almost regretted it, but he couldn’t regret anything when they were both seated so casually on the sofa.

Living with Jon was revealing numerous things that he never imagined he’d have the opportunity to know, like how he looked curled up on the couch fast asleep, how good of a cook he was (and how spicy he liked his food), how his hair looked when it was wet and sticking to his shoulders after a shower… Martin realized with a start that he had been staring at Jon as he lost himself in his recent memories, but thankfully the other man didn’t seem to notice, or at least showed no signs of it, his eyes firmly trained on the page in front of him. Martin was about to take the last sip of his tea when he felt a yawn coming on. Jon did take notice of this and immediately moved his legs off from Martin’s lap.

“Tired?” He asked from his new position, his legs curled up underneath him. Martin nodded and drank the last bit of his tea. He was rather chilly now that Jon had moved off of him, and he begrudgingly got up to wash his mug before getting ready for bed. Jon made a small noise of protest as he turned the water on.

“Don’t bother. I’ll wash up. You can get some sleep.” He called from the couch. Martin shrugged. He was tired, and Jon offered, so he wasn’t going to fight it. He moved to the bedroom with the same excited nervousness that he always had at the realization that they shared a bedroom and a house, at least temporarily.

Martin lay on his back, wondering if he should say something as he watched Jon enter the room in his pajamas. He knew Jon was not one to openly discuss his feelings, and Martin wasn’t keen on the idea of pulling it out of him. What would he ask, anyway? ‘ _Do you love me_?’ It was obvious they had something there, but it was supportive, understanding, a sort of shared trauma and wanting to comfort each other. They cared for each other. They were friends, even. That being said, he wasn’t the sort to act on a hunch with these sorts of things, as an unprompted kiss would likely be awkward at best, and alienating at worst. As usual, he decided against doing anything out of their new ordinary, and Jon climbed into bed next to him none the wiser to the turmoil bubbling inside Martin.

“Can I turn out the light?” He asked, sitting up next to the pillows as he brought his knees up to slide under the comforter. Martin hummed an assent and Jon reached beside him to shut off the bedside lamp. For a moment it was completely dark, and everything disappeared. Martin’s eyes quickly adjusted. The room was never pitch black, as a bit of moonlight shone through the flimsy curtains of the only window. Jon stretched out once, his arms and legs reaching far and making his back arch slightly. He looked gorgeous like that, Martin mused. He then closed his eyes and desperately willed himself to sleep. He soon felt Jon shift towards him, and opened his eyes again to see him throw an arm over Martin and rest his head against his chest. To say this was surprising was an understatement. While Jon had been affectionate lately, his touches were always fleeting, and he always gave Martin the ability to easily move away from them, not that he often did. Slight touches on the arm, a head against his shoulder, or rather his back, as Jon was a bit shorter than him, or his legs thrown over his lap. This was different, though. There was no attempt to sleep on his side of the bed tonight, no show of staying respectably distanced, no turning away and saying goodnight only to find themselves inevitably entwined later on. No excuses. Just Jon immediately reaching for him, snuggling up close and familiarly.

Jon glanced up at Martin from his new position, and Martin’s face must have held evidence of his shock because he immediately looked concerned.

“I’m sorry, is this alright? We usually end up like this by morning, so I just thought –”

“Yes, you’re fine. This is fine. It’s… good.” He finished, not wanting to sound _too_ excited about it.

“Good.” Jon repeated, with a lilt of amusement in his voice.

Jon continued to gaze at him lazily, a delicate smile on his face. He looked sleepy, calm, and absolutely lovely. His hair had started to fall out of the messy bun he often threw it into, and Martin gently reached up to move a greying strand out of his face. Jon watched the movement and momentarily closed his eyes as Martin’s hand brushed his cheek. Martin wasn’t sure if it was possible to explode from not expressing oneself, but he was beginning to feel like he would be the first case. Jon had come to him awake, was in his arms consciously, of his own accord. If he had been waiting for some kind of sign then this was likely it, but he couldn’t interrupt the moment. He just wanted to enjoy it. He closed his eyes again, but after a minute he thought he could still feel Jon’s eyes on him. Sure enough, when he reopened them, Jon was still clearly awake and watching him, face upturned and eyes wide.

“Can I help you?” Martin asked, humor creeping into his question. Jon looked briefly embarrassed to be caught staring but quickly recovered. He used the arm beneath him to push himself up ever so slightly, so he was hovered barely above Martin, still leaning on his side. His brow was slightly furrowed, but in the dim light it was difficult to make out any more of his expression. The shadows made him nothing more than a dark figure, but the moonlight outlined the sharp angles of his face in a ghostly blue. Martin had never considered how lovely someone could look in dim light. He could be content watching Jon watch him, but after a moment he heard the other man take in a small breath as if about to speak, and then release it. He seemed to be thinking of something to say, but the way to word it was puzzling him immensely. Martin had the sudden urge to reach up, pull his face down, and kiss him. He could feel the strain of keeping his arms still at his sides, and finally decided he had had enough of waiting.

“Jon, I –”

“Martin, –”

They both paused for a moment before laughing at their interrupting each other. Jon recovered first.

“Can I –” Martin held his breath, but Jon paused for a moment too long.

“Yes?” He asked, curious as to what had Jon so stumped.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, his words rushed with forced confidence. Martin was sure he had misheard. He paused only a moment to see Jon’s tentative expression but quickly recovered from his shock once he realized Jon was still waiting for his response.

“Yes,” He said, so quietly it was barely a breath, and Jon smiled, bringing his arm that had been around Martin’s middle up to cup his face, and gently twisting his fingers under his jaw to tilt his chin up. The moment seemed to last forever but was over in no time at all. Martin had wanted to kiss Jon for _years_. He had probably imagined it a million times, in a million different ways, but never had he imagined how lovingly Jon would hold him as he did so, or how gently he would press their lips together. Or, to be honest, how good of a kisser he would be. He had hoped, for sure, but unlike most things, he was quite sure that this was better than what he had imagined. Maybe he was slightly too cautious, but Martin didn’t have it in him to complain. Jon’s kiss was slow, thoughtful, and reserved. He was testing the waters. He drew back after only a moment, trying to gauge Martin’s reaction, but Martin didn’t want to stop. He lifted his head and chased the kiss, and much to his satisfaction, Jon leaned back down just as eagerly. Martin kissed him quickly and desperately, and they bumped noses as he turned the angle of his head. Jon chuckled and pulled back slightly, just enough so he could see Martin’s face.

“Wow.” Martin breathed, not quite believing it. “Am I dreaming?”

“Not unless this is your worst nightmare. I don’t tend to feature in good dreams.”

“ _Of course_ this isn’t a nightmare!” Martin sputtered. “Don’t _do_ that.” Jon ducked down and rested his head against Martin’s chest, hiding from the chastisement.

“Sorry.” He muttered into Martin’s shirt, but Martin knew he would say something similar again in a heartbeat. Damn his self-deprecation.

Martin sighed. “Besides, that was lovely.” He said, cautiously using his free hand to touch Jon’s hair. He sighed contentedly as Martin slowly ran his fingers through the loose strands, nearly pulling his hair tie completely off.

“So are you.” He murmured, his eyes closing and resting his head heavily in Martin’s hand. Martin was glad it was dark, so Jon wouldn’t see his blush.

“Oh, really?” He asked, so giddy that he was worried he would just start giggling.

“Certainly.” Jon seemed completely at ease, like putty in Martin’s hands, but Martin himself was absolutely buzzing. All he wanted was to hold Jon close to his chest and never let go. And kiss him again. And play with his hair, and – wait. He still wasn’t _one-hundred_ percent sure they were still on the same page, which was very important. After all, it had only been a kiss…

“I didn’t know that you felt… well, I mean, I guess I still don’t really _know_ anything…” Jon opened his eyes at that, tilting just slightly from Martin’s cradling hand. He had a somewhat amused expression on his face.

“What?” Martin asked. He felt rather like he had been left out of an inside joke that he definitely should’ve been a part of.

“Martin.” Jon said, noticing how he didn’t immediately relax.

“What?” Martin asked again, his voice squeaking just a bit. That certainly didn’t help his already high nerves.

“I… care about you.” Martin stopped for a moment, his hand stilling in Jon’s hair.

“I care about you, too.” He replied easily. He was slightly relieved to have them each say that, at least, but Jon was still looking at him with a strange intensity.

“I love you.” He said then, and Martin could literally feel how hard his heart was beating.

“You do?” He asked, a little breathless. Jon loved him? _Loved_ him? In what way? Platonically, romantically, some other way he hadn’t thought of –

“Yes.” Jon stated, very matter-of-factly, seeming to have quickly gained confidence in his statement. He raised himself up so he was lying more next to Martin than on him, which Martin regretted, but it did make it easier to look at his face.

“It wasn’t obvious?” Jon asked quizzically, seemingly surprised at Martin’s surprise.

“Well… maybe. I didn’t want to assume I wasn’t just… projecting.” Jon smiled a little at that, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. 

“But you’re alright? It’s not… too much? Too sudden?”

“Too sudden? I - Are you joking?” Jon’s face lit up at that, and Martin couldn’t help but match his smile with a big goofy grin of his own.

“But you didn’t know?”

“Well you _are_ just telling me now!” Jon appeared split between amused and horrified.

“We’ve been here for nearly a week! We sleep in the same bed!” He protested, as if this were irrefutable proof of their devotion to each other.

“And when there’re so many other beds to choose from.” Martin retorted.

“I… I mean that’s fair, but I… I wanted to give you time, you know, not overwhelm you right after returning from the Lonely. I thought maybe you needed… space. Though I was loathe to give it.” He finished, his face screwing up in a way Martin would only describe as adorable. He thought of all the small gestures and touches Jon had been showering him with. He had been holding back? He had wanted _more_?

“How long have you… felt this way?” He finally managed to ask, not quite able to comprehend what he was hearing yet. He was also distracted by the very recent memory of Jon’s lips on his, and was hoping that could start up again soon.

“Well, it’s rather hard to tell. A while.” He said simply, and Martin stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. It quickly became evident that he was not planning on doing so.

“Weeks?” Martin offered after a moment. Jon huffed a laugh.

“Months?” He responded, “A year? It’s changed, over time.” Jon looked away from Martin as he said this, looking down at his hand lying between them. Martin wanted to pull him close and kiss him silly. Instead he just reached for the hand Jon was staring at.

“I’m not usually so concerned with these types of things.” Jon confessed, still watching his hand as he entwined his fingers with Martin’s.

“What, emotions?” Martin scoffed.

“Right.” Jon said, quite plainly.

“So… since before you woke back up, then?” Martin pressed. For some reason, he needed to know this, needed to know how long they had both been thinking of the other. He thought it made wanting him for so long slightly less painful.

“From my coma? Definitely. I think I was realizing it around the Unknowing, but, again. Timing.” Or possibly more painful, Martin thought, in a bittersweet sort of way.

“Wow.” He muttered softly. This past year had held a similar strain for both of them, then. Martin replayed some memories in his mind, remembering Jon’s _I miss you_ , and his suggestion to run away together and escape the institute. That part had sort of come true, apparently, though thankfully no blinding was involved. But the idea that they could’ve talked about this sooner, been there for each other…

“I wasn’t there when you woke up.” He murmured, more to himself than to Jon, who immediately made a noise of protest.

“You had your own plan. You were getting information.”

“Right.” He said, pulling himself back into the moment. Part of him wanted to protest more, argue that he should’ve been there for him, but he knew why he made the choices he did, and he wasn’t sure he would’ve made any them any differently knowing what he had then.

“So, when you pulled me out of the lonely…” Martin started, trying not to focus too hard on how hot his hand felt where Jon’s thumb was rubbing circles against his palm.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you just kiss me then?” Jon chuckled softly.

“Well, not to imply I didn’t think about it, but I was more concerned with making sure we got out of there in one piece. Besides, it did seem rather out of place; I didn’t exactly think it right to pounce on you in the tunnels.” Martin barked an incredulous laugh.

“To _pounce_?”

“So to speak –”

“Oh, come here.” He said fondly, and he pulled Jon up to kiss him again. Jon hummed happily, shifting slightly so he was lying partially on Martin’s chest again. Martin let one hand cup Jon’s face and the other rest on his shoulder, holding him close and losing himself in the kiss. It was new, as he hadn’t kissed anyone in years, and he had to be mindful of where Jon’s nose was, but it was also wonderful. Jon seemed almost suspiciously comfortable with it, as if he were some sort of expert, nimbly moving his mouth to pepper Martin’s face with little pecks before returning to his lips for a deeper kiss. Martin adored the attention, his cheeks rosy and warm, and he hoped he wasn’t making a fool of himself for not being so deft in his own attempts. He didn’t really have to worry though, for Jon certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. He could feel his smile every time their lips parted for a breath, and it made Martin’s heart soar.


	3. Sway

Martin stood over the stove, waving a hand over the heating pan to see if it was warm yet. He heard Jon shuffling around in the other room and hummed contentedly to himself as he cracked three eggs onto the blistering metal. Jon’s audible shuffling footsteps were a strictly morning phenomenon. Usually, or at least back at the institute, Jon’s gait was marked by quick and tapping steps, much unlike the lazy, comfortable pace he had now. Martin smiled to himself as Jon approached, straightening when Jon placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned onto his back.

“G’morning.” He grumbled, and Martin’s smile grew wider at Jon’s attempt to join the world of the living.

“Morning.” He greeted, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the top of Jon’s head. Jon felt him shift and looked up with a groggy expression. As much as he hated sleeping, he did love dozing and relaxing, and it was difficult for him to rouse himself once he had found a comfortable position. Even though he had discovered that this was a daily occurrence, Martin still found it hard to believe that this was the same Jon who had gone into work early nearly every day, crisply dressed and eyes alert from the moment he stepped into the Institute. There were so many things about Jon that were different now. His tone of voice and way of moving was smoother, as if his edges had been worn down by everything he had been through. Martin thought it made him seem softer, though not necessarily friendlier. He just had a sleepier vibe now, less ‘strict professor’ and more ‘college student.’

The sputtering noises of the eggs brought Martin’s attention back to the pan, and he scrambled them with the spatula in his hand. Jon pushed himself off from Martin with some effort and made it the couple feet over to the small table. He sat in the farther of the two chairs and rested his head in his hands, holding his chin up to look at Martin. Since they had revealed their feelings for each other a couple of nights prior, Jon had become infinitely more comfortable with showing his affection for Martin in many ways, one of which was apparently openly staring at him. Martin wasn’t opposed to this development, but it was strange for him to clearly know he was seen when he had been avoiding that very thing for months. It wasn’t exactly a bad feeling, but it was going to take some getting used to if this was how Jon was going to act from now on.

“Enjoying the view?’ Martin teased, attempting to break the tension and not needing to look up from his breakfast-in-progress to know Jon was smiling softly at him.

“Immensely.” He murmured, and Martin willed his warm cheeks not to redden, telling himself it was from standing over the stove as opposed to a simple compliment. He continued to work in silence, both of them enjoying the savory smells of the meal coming together – a hearty hash and bacon were accompanying the eggs. Martin shut off the stove and began to fix two plates for them. He had gotten the ratio for their meals down nicely at this point, both of them knowing how much they could make without having leftovers. There was no microwave in the cabin, and stove-reheated eggs were strangely unpleasant in Martin’s opinion. They tended to get dry and very rubbery.

They ate companionably, Jon thanking him for breakfast and slowly waking as he ate. Martin was glad that Jon was eating now, as he had seemed too stressed and thin before that Martin had been worried he was starving himself. The cabin was a chance for them to catch their breath, and being away from responsibility was having a positive effect on both of them in many aspects, including their diet. Living near so many farms meant extremely fresh ingredients were easy to come by. Jon was looking healthier, his skin warmer and his face less gaunt. Being able to make meals together also added fun to the mix, Jon excitedly showing martin how to make the few dishes he had learned from his grandmother, who had apparently been an excellent cook.

Once they had cleaned up from the meal, Jon washing and Martin drying, there was the dull realization that there wasn’t much to do for the rest of the day. This was difficult for both of them for different reasons. Martin just got bored easily and tended to zone out when not occupied with something to do, and zoning out was dangerously close to the dull reverie of the lonely. For Jon, it was more of his feelings of guilt and responsibility weighing him down and making him feel restless and selfish. They both knew that any day either of them could be worse in their suffering than the other, and so they tried to find ways to otherwise engage themselves.

It was quickly becoming a habit in the mornings to go for a walk after breakfast and admire the cows that gathered in the nearest field. Martin was a particular fan of this and went even when Jon didn’t feel like it. Today, though, Jon did want to accompany him, and to Martin’s joy, Jon slipped his hand in his as they walked out the door. Martin squeezed his hand once in approval before they set out, appreciating the way Jon smiled in acknowledgment despite keeping his gaze on the road ahead. This was bound to be an excellent day, Martin thought, for not only were the cows out, but they were all gathered rather close to the fence. Martin had been working on his names for them and was delighted to see his favorite cow, a tannish shaggy friend who he had named Marigold. Martin immediately bounded up to the fence, leaning against the sturdy wooden beam and nearly bending in half to reach out and try to pet one of the beasts.

Jon watched his attempts with much amusement, snapping forward to grab Martin’s hand and steady him when it seemed he might accidentally topple over onto the cow’s side. Martin shot him a thankful glance before they both laughed at his eagerness.

“I don’t know why I’m so obsessed with them.” He admitted after they had spent an adequate amount of time cooing over them and watching them stand around. Jon started to pull him back in the direction of the cabin, giving only a slight shrug in response to Martin’s statement.

“Are you used to having pets? Or do you just like being around animals?” Jon asked, threading his arm around Martin’s. Martin shook his head.

“I always wanted a big dog, like a massive one that could probably crush me but really just likes to play,” Martin confessed, “But I never had any pets growing up. My mum certainly couldn’t take care of them, and I was too busy caring for her to introduce another responsibility into my life.” Jon nodded in understanding.

“My grandmother liked cats. We had a tabby when I was young,” He said this fondly, reminiscing, though followed it up with, “I don’t think she liked me very much.” Martin quirked a brow. Jon pulled the collar of his shirt down a few inches to reveal a small, thin scar just below his collarbone. A mundane scar to top all his supernatural ones. Martin hadn’t noticed it in any of the brief moments he had seen Jon without a shirt, but it was there, nonetheless.

“Besides that, I used to share a cat with Georgie, though she kept him after we split.” He stated glumly, glancing at Martin tightly as he said this. They hadn’t really discussed past relationships, but Martin knew that he and Georgie had a history. Enough of one to have owned a pet together, apparently. “I assume I prefer cats to dogs, though I haven’t really tested that theory.” He concluded. Martin appreciated the precise and occasionally scientific way in which Jon sometimes described things. Having a favorite kind of pet required a _hypothesis_ and _testing_. Adorable.

Once they were back at the cabin Martin sighed and looked around the tiny room. They had gone shopping for groceries the day before, so they were set there for a bit. They had already eaten, already showered, seen the cows, now what? As martin drifted towards the couch, Jon scurried off towards the other room. Evidently, he had a plan for the day, so Martin left him to it. He was about to pick up his book of poetry when Jon remerged holding a large, slightly old radio. He seemed very pleased with this new item and placed it proudly on the kitchen counter. He began to fiddle with it until a signal caught, and suddenly the cabin was filled with music. Martin set his book down to stand up and join Jon, who had just turned around to judge Martin’s reaction to his achievement. Martin smiled and cocked his head.

“Where’d you find this?” He asked, genuinely curious. He thought they had already explored every inch of this cabin. Jon nodded in the direction of the bedroom.

“It was in the corner beside the dresser. Very dusty.” He said, wrinkling his nose at the thought of dust. Then he looked back up at Martin. “But it’s nice, isn’t it? I thought we could use some music.” Martin nodded emphatically, pleased with the improvement in atmosphere the music gave. Sitting in silence was lonely, sitting with music was relaxing. The station was playing 50’s hits, mostly light rock and love songs, it seemed. Martin didn’t recognize the song, but he wasn’t surprised. He was surprised, however, when Jon took a step back, straightened his posture, and held a hand out to Martin. Martin blinked at him.

“May I have this dance?” He asked with a smile, and Martin immediately tried to back out.

“Oh, I can’t.” He admitted, sorry to have ruined Jon’s little plan. Jon didn’t seem put off though and stayed in his pose with his arm outstretched.

“Nonsense. I’ll show you.” He pressed, and Martin wanted nothing more than to take Jon’s hand, so he did. Jon smiled victoriously and grabbed Martin’s hand in his, and placed the other on his shoulder before gently placing his own on Martin’s side. “I’m leading, obviously.” He stated when Martin quirked an eyebrow. He laughed at Jon’s imperious tone, used in so different a context as he was used to. He was still Jon, but now he was teaching him how to dance rather than critiquing his note-taking or organizational skills. Jon slowly moved them, applying light pressure on Martin in the direction they were to move. Martin felt slow and clumsy, but Jon didn’t seem frustrated.

“You step to the side, then diagonally, and then back to the other side, and eventually you’ve sort of spun all the way around with your steps.” He explained, doing just that. Martin found that is was easier than he had expected. He didn’t move with as much grace as Jon did, and Martin wondered at that.

“Why do you know how to dance so well?” He asked, looking down at Jon’s face with adoration. Jon looked away from him for the first time, his eyes darting towards the floor and back.

“I might have taken some dance classes in uni.” He conceded. Martin’s smile grew. There was so much he didn’t know about Jon, even though they had worked in the same place for years. It wasn’t as if they had had a lot of time to casually talk, and especially after the Prentiss incident everything had been more focused on survival and avoiding danger than what classes he had taken. That topic was especially avoided since Martin had not attended an institution of higher learning but had said he had on his CV. He didn’t want to have to improvise a lot of professors’ names and classes he might have taken, so he tended to say he didn’t want to discuss it and move on. People seemed to allow that, likely assuming Martin just hadn’t had a good time. But Jon taking dance classes? Everything he had known about him seemed to be dwarfed by all that he had learned in the week since they had arrived here.

“What kind of dance?” He inquired.

“Waltz, a bit of ballet, though I was not nearly dedicated enough to continue with it for long.” He said, and Martin raised his eyebrows.

“That’s wonderful,” Martin said, and Jon looked at him quizzically.

“That you did that, I mean. That you tried it.” He said awkwardly, but Jon nodded in agreement, and the two eased into a gentle rhythm. The song had changed to something a bit slower, and their steps slowed to match. They were swaying more now than properly stepping, but both of them seemed equally comfortable with this. Everything that happened within this cabin seemed to happen out of time, out of reality. It would never have occurred to Martin any length of time ago that he would be dancing with Jon in the kitchen of a house they shared, listening to the radio and lazily clinging to each other.

“You’re staring, again.” He murmured, and Jon’s gentle smile curled upwards.

“Does it bother you?” He asked, and Martin knew that if it truly did, he would stop.

“I’m just not used to it, I suppose.” He said. He could feel Jon and him slowly drifting closer.

“Well, you should get used to it. You’re very nice to look at.” He said conversationally. It made Martin’s heart flutter. He didn’t think that was true. He wasn’t necessarily bad-looking, in his mind, but he certainly wasn’t anything special. “You _are_.” Jon pressed, seeing the way Martin’s face twitched. Martin felt his cheeks redden again. It took barely anything to make him blush, and he could tell that Jon loved it. Before he knew it Jon was resting his head against his chest, and they swayed in place like that for many minutes more, content in the comfort of each other’s company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the last chapter... I could probably write an infinite number of jmart safehouse scenes, but this feels like a fine ending for now. Let me know what you think of it! I promise I don't bite :)


End file.
